Bothering
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Sister Julienne/Dr. Turner crack-fic. Their attempts to solve each problems only seem to leave them with more.
1. Chapter 1

**Here it is; written for my lovely people on tumblr, particularly for anyone who found my last story in any way upsetting. This may take some explaining: this is an AU from the world where Turnadette genuinely are nothing more than good friends and colleagues (difficult to imagine, I know). This is Dr. Turner/Sister Julienne, a crack-ship; I can't stress that enough. Failure to accept this may well cause your mind to be blown.**

The first time it had happened it had been a genuine accident. She had _never_ meant it to happen. She hadn't wanted it. Well, perhaps want wasn't the easiest thing to deny in her situation, obviously there had been times when the idea had not been entirely repugnant to her, or it would never have happened at all. But she wasn't supposed to want it. She thought that even without the- rather substantial- obstacle of her vows, the idea of what they were doing would still have shocked her. And even in spite of this, stopping was proving something of a difficulty.

She would like to have been surprised that it had happened with him. But really she couldn't be, it was impossible; she wasn't sure if this was something that could have happened between her and anyone other than Patrick Turner. She had always liked him, perhaps not always in this way, but she had always been able to work well with him, always respected him, always thought he was a good man. And then there was always his good looks, his handsome smile, his undeniable resemblance to...

She cannot pinpoint the exact day when the simple gladness or relief to see him turned into the unmistakeable fluttering in her stomach. She knows exactly, though, the day when that fluttering turned into something distinctly other, distinctly more; an almost painful, aching, hurting, longing that filled the whole of the middle of her body up to the hollow cavity of her chest.

The first time it had happened, and not only the first time either, they had been in his office at the maternity hospital. Well, really it had started at Nonnatus House; but for Sister Julienne, the whole of life and death started at Nonnatus, so that was nothing particularly extraordinary. And at Nonnatus something had held her back, something...

He had come to see her about a patient; Cynthia had reported a case of suspected neglect relating to one of the families she looked after, but she was out on a call, so he had had to make do with her. Not that he made her feel as if he was making do with her, he settled graciously into the chair on the other side of her desk and they were able to discuss the matter calmly and thoroughly.

Increasingly she noticed a deep frown on his brow. His elbow rested on the arms of his chair and his hand rested tiredly against the side of his face.

"Are you alright, Doctor?" she asked him gently, her own face creasing a little in concern. He looked exhausted.

"Yes, Sister, I'm fine," he replied, and then- when the tone of her silence indicated she was far from convinced by this response- "I'm just a little bit tired, that's all. This case is getting me down a little bit."

"More than a little bit, by the look of it," she judged levelly, "If you don't mind me being frank, Doctor."

"No, it's fine, Sister, really," he told her, "I don't mind you saying, as seen as I'm here, bothering you with a problem that isn't really yours."

"You're not bothering me," she told him in reply, giving him a small smile but maintaining a largely serious gaze so he knew that she meant what she said sincerely "I'm here to be bothered. You know that we work as a team and if you have a problem then it is my concern too."

He smiled at her rather gratefully in reply.

"It's just I feel so responsible," he told her, his face showing significant distress, "I was present at the child's birth with Nurse Miller. I should have known-..."

"You could not have known from the birth alone the difficulties the parents would have and the neglect the child would suffer at the hands of the parents," Sister Julienne told him simply, "There is no way you could have known. The birth took place almost two years ago. None of this is your fault, Doctor. And I must say," she added more softly, giving him what she hoped was an encouraging smile, "That I think your professional conduct since the problem came to our attention has been exemplary."

He had been examining the edge of her desk very carefully as she spoke, but these last words made him look up at her. He gave her a warm and- she had to note- rather handsome smile.

"You're very kind to say so, Sister," he told her.

A very handsome smile.

"I speak nothing but the truth," she replied, a little curtly but kindly nonetheless, "What I feel ought to be said. I have nothing but the highest regard for you, Dr. Turner," she told him plainly, and then wondered why, a moment later, she felt herself blushing.

His eyes, removed from the table, had now settled upon her, and were examining her very closely. They were dark brown, of unknowable depth, and she thought this gave them quite an unnerving all-seeing quality. It made her feel a little uneasy.

"You haven't been losing sleep over this, have you?" she asked him, more quietly, more carefully than before.

He gave a sigh.

"Not over this specifically," he replied, sounding rueful in the extreme, "But you don't want to be bothe-..."

"I want to be bothered," she countered before he could say it, looking at him very firmly, "And you're not bothering me."

There was a pause, and then finally her conviction wore him down.

"It hasn't been easy," he confided in her, "Since Sarah died. Timothy's coping admirably. Sister Bernadette's a big help, she lost her own mother when she was very young."

"Yes, I know," she replied, "She's a good girl."

"Yes, she is," he agreed, "She gets on very well with Timothy."

There was another pause.

"But who is there for you, Doctor?" she asked him softly.

She saw his mouth twitch and his lips tighten a little.

"I manage, Sister," he told her, with rather a hollow effort at a smile.

She could not help but raise her eyebrows a little. Do you?- she wanted to ask him.

He looked up for a moment into her eyes and they exchanged a very honest look. She saw incredible sadness in his eyes, and didn't dare to wonder what he saw in hers.

"We are here for you, Doctor," she told him, "The whole of Nonnatus House. And I am here."

His smile grew more warm now, and their eyes met again.

"It's wonderful to here you say that, Sister," he told her, "It's wonderfully kind of you to say so."

"You're our friend," she replied by way of an explanation.

For a few moments, he simply sat their across the desk from her, looking at her very thoroughly. It made her feel most unusually self-conscious. She looked down at her clasped hands in her lap, and realised that she had been gripping her fingers very hard. Her ring had left a mark.

She looked up and found him still watching her. There was another pause for a moment. She had the distinct feeling of being a little short of breath. She had no idea what was affecting her like this.

"I must go, Sister," he told her, "I cannot detain you any longer."

"Nonsense," she told him as they both stood up at the same time, "You are always welcome. You must come back," she added, a little abruptly, "If you have any more difficulties. Or if you only need someone... to talk to. You must come to me."

She felt it would hurt her deeply if he needed to and he did not. She felt herself urgently trying to impress this upon him with out having to say so. They lingered by the door.

"I will, Sister," he told her, "You are the first person I would come to. I promise you that."

They smiled at each other, both seeming to be a little nervous. She could feel her own heart hammering in her chest and she could not explain why, but for the way he was looking at her.

"Thank you, Sister."

He leant forwards, planting a kiss on her cheek, obviously not thinking about it. Their conversation, had it taken place between two different people, had been the sort that might have led up to such a gesture. But somehow, his kiss felt a lot firmer, a lot more tender than a normal kiss on the cheek. When he pulled away, realising what he had just done, he pulled away, looking abashed.

"I'm sorry, Sister," he told her, his head sinking a little, avoiding her eyes, "I didn't-..."

"Shhh," she told him, staring at him in sheer surprise, "It doesn't matter."

His eyes raised once more, returning to hers. They were standing very close together. She knew exactly what he was going to do before he did it, and yet she did not tell him not to. He leant forwards again, kissing her lips so tentatively and chastely. She did not respond, but that did not put him off, and his persistence was what broke her down after the slightest of seconds. She kissed him back, trying not to think how unsure she was, because tied in with that was the reason that she should certainly not be doing this. Her hands hovered timidly and then finally rested upon his shoulders; she became lost in the way they were kissing. She couldn't stop, she wanted more. She pulled her head back.

Their eyes met; real shock in both their eyes now. What was happening to them, what were they doing? They were both out of breath. She took a step backwards away from him. Her hand was shaking, as she reached for the door handle.

"You should probably go," she told him.

"Yes," he agreed, "Sister, I'm-..."

"Don't be," she told him, "It doesn't matter."

He was still looking at her, looking shy, ashamed of himself, looking so very confused.

"I will see you later," she told him randomly, searching for something to say.

"Yes," he seemed not to take in her comment either, and merely nodded.

She opened the door.

"Goodbye, Doctor," she told him, closing the door after him as he went and leaning back against it, her mind, and her body, reeling.

…**...**

For the rest of the day, she could make neither head nor tale of what they had done. She couldn't understand it; nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Not while she'd been a nun, at least. The more she tried to understand it, the more she was unsuccessful; but perhaps that was because thinking about it meant thinking about him. It was only a foolish moment. Neither of them had thought, they had forgotten who they were, they had got carried away. She hoped, she prayed, that God would forgive her.

But that was wrong. Perhaps they'd been carried away, but they hadn't forgotten who they were. She hadn't. Their preceding conversation had been so deeply rooted in who they were it was impossible to forget.

And she had wanted him to kiss her. She hadn't pre-empted it, but when it had arrived it had felt welcome and natural. Knowing that, could she really ask or expect God to forgive her.

It was no sin to love, and wearing a habit did not change the fact that she was a person. She knew this; she had told Sister Bernadette this a few months ago, when it seemed that one of the sailors who the young nun was helping to treat for mild pneumonia had taken rather a shine to her. Thankfully, Sister Bernadette had giggled a little and told her there was absolutely no chance of her giving up the religious life to be the wife of sailor. She told others these things, and yet she was having the greatest of difficulty accepting them herself.

Perhaps because it is distinctly easier to forgive what happened in the past and what is over now. Her... feeling, her- she could scarcely dare to call it- desire, for Dr. Turner was very much a present issue.

She felt that she had to see him, and did not quite know why. It might do good to talk to him, but what on earth could they say to each other? Where would they begin? It would not do good to kiss him again, no matter how appealing she found the thought.

In the end, her motivations were too unclear to separate. Too unclear and too dubious. But, whatever they were, her actions were apparent. That evening, she found herself cycling over to the maternity home to see him. Her bag was full of papers, notes on the family they had discussed which earlier he had expressed a vague curiosity in seeing, but if she was honest with herself, this was nothing more than a ruse. She just wanted... she did not know what she wanted.

He looked up, his eyes full of surprise when he saw who had come into his office. Graciously and with obvious self-consciousness, he stood up, inclining his head politely.

"Sister," he told her, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Are you?" she asked, surprised.

He did not seem to have a reply; his statement seemed to have surprised him a little too.

"I've brought the papers you said you'd like to see," she told him, "I just thought they might be of interest. They're in my bag," she told him, indicating rather foolishly.

He nodded.

"That was very kind of you, Sister. You needn't have troubled yourself. But I'm glad you did," he added hurriedly, seeing the look that must have passed over her face, "Really, Sister, I'm very grateful."

"I didn't think that you weren't," she told him, not looking up, setting her bag on the desk between them and opening it to lift the papers out, "There are quite a few. This is not their first child. None have survived past infancy. It doesn't look good for the parents, I know, but I believe their living conditions-..."

"Sister, are you alright?" he asked her, watching her hands, shaking as she took the papers out of her bag and placed them flat on the desk.

She did not say anything, only continued what she was doing. Frustrated by her silence, he took hold of her hands and stopped her mid-action. She would not look up at him.

"Sister?"

He was still there holding her hands. Finally, she looked up at him. The look of pity, of apology, that he was giving her brought tears to her eyes, and she had no idea why.

"I don't know," she replied softly, in little more than a whisper.

"You're not," he stated firmly, crossing around the desk to stand before her, "It's because of me, isn't it? It's because of what I did."

"No," she whispered in reply.

"Yes," he insisted, looking appalled with himself, "I didn't know what I was doing, Sister. It will never happen again. I never meant to upset you."

"No, Doctor," she told him firmly, "Listen to me. What you did didn't upset me. What's upset me is that I wanted you to do it. And it is very wrong of me to want it."

The present tense did not escape him. They looked at each other for a few moments, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

"What I did was unforgivably foolish," he stated simply, then, seeming to correct his own thoughts a little, "It was unforgivable."

"I have forgiven you," she told him, truthfully.

"You're an angel," he told her bluntly.

"I'm not," she replied, more brusquely still, seeing the irony all too well, "I'm not. Not by a very long stretch, Doctor."

She let out a long low breath. They were standing close enough for it to brush gently over the lower part of his face, his lips. His eyes fell shut.

"Sister," he murmured.

His tone was so treacherous; it betrayed everything he was feeling. Sadness, foolishness, tenderness, longing. She felt herself swallow.

"What?" she asked him.

The silence which followed felt long.

"What would you feel if-..."

He could not finish.

"If ?" she prompted him, thinking she knew what he was going to say.

"If I-..."

The words stuck in his throat again, but this time he leant forwards, cupping her cheek softly with one hand, kissing her lips again, so carefully, as if she was fragile, breakable or volatile. She felt all three, but then she ceased to feel anything other than his mouth on hers. The feeling where they made contact seemed to burn, but burn in an inexplicably gentle way. She could not resist it. She had forgotten what it was like to kiss. She liked it.

They broke apart again, both breathless. She wanted more closeness, she wanted more of the wonderful forgotten comfort it yielded. It felt like finding herself in a former life, like being born again.

"Sister," his voice trembled a little as he spoke, "I don't think I'll be able to stop, if we don't stop now."

Their eyes met almost fiercely. She had already passed that point; it was like falling off a precipice into a deep insurmountable void. She kissed him hungrily.

"Oh, my darling," he murmurs between hot-mouthed kisses, and she wonders if he is thinking of her.

But his eyes are open, staring into hers. She thinks he might be.

It's a wrench when he removes her veil, but he does it ever so gently, lying it over the back of his chair. He removed the band and her little cap too. She wonders how he feels, seeing her hair for the first time. Perhaps it's a strange thing to wonder about. It is her old brown-blond in part; some of it remains, but she is noticeably streaked with grey now. But he takes her hair pins out reverentially, lays them on the seat by her veil. She shakes her head and her hair tumbles down her back like it has not done for years.

His patience has waned a little by the time it comes to removing her habit and his clothes. Buttons are torn off, mainly his, and she thinks she must find a way to sew them back on for him, because no one else will do it. He removes her garments a little roughly, but she knows she never would have shed them otherwise, and in the end she is glad that he does.

They kiss each other all the while, their hands roam each others bodies. She feels clumsy- she has always hated that feeling- and unable to match him, but he seems not to mind. He kisses her neck, her collarbone, and her breasts. No one has ever kissed her breasts, no one has ever touched her like this. Long ago she lost the ability to think. All she can do is kiss him fiercely, and clutch at his back. She wants this man. She hasn't wanted anyone in years, so why does she want so much from him?

He rolls her back onto his desk, pushing papers everywhere, and it strikes her that they are actually going to do this, this is going to happen, they are about to make love on his desk. She is about to try and formulate a thought, good or bad, in her mind, when he touches her between her legs, pushing her knee up a little to bend snuggly around his waist, and she is lost.

She can feel herself sweating as his body moves over hers, hear herself making sounds that she'd never have known herself capable of, little lustful moans in his ear, arching her hips up to him, all the while clinging to his shoulder with her hand. She throws her head back with a wail as she feels herself finish, shuddering and jutting so wantonly under him, and him kissing her neck as he spills himself inside her.

When she regains her senses she finds that she can hardly move. She hardly knows what has happened. She feels the heat and comfort of her release fading from her body. He is holding her and she wants to stay. But she knows very well that she can't.

He has to help her off the desk. The look on his face when she says she has to go wounds her, she feels it like a physical pain in her chest.

"But I'll come back," the words slip from her mouth before she knows what they are, "If you want me."

He pressed a brief and tender kiss of thanks to her mouth.

That's always how it is, whenever they meet, whenever they make love. She will always come back if he wants her. Except, she knows very well that one day soon this is going to have to stop.

**Please review if you have the time. More or not?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Since yesterday I've had some fairly fantastic conversations with people about this fic and about this ship. So it's for all of you, again. **

She never quite caught the habit of not going back. For one thing, she felt that she couldn't: she had told him she would go back to him, and so she did. That and the fact that she felt she needed to, she wanted to, so very badly.

She ached for him after that first time in his office, and it got worse not easier the longer she avoided him for too long. So she bore it all: the stiffness from being pushed back over his desk; the soreness between her legs; the shame she felt; the arriving back at Nonnatus House and trying not to look too furtive. He wanted her and she wanted him, so she bore it all. She knew that you must always be willing to pay the price for what you wanted; well, at the moment she was willing to pay.

Once more, she peddled her bicycle around to the maternity hospital in the late evening; the sky and the world darkening and deepening around her, providing her with a merciful sense anonymity and secrecy. Her hands wobbled a little on the handlebars, and she felt as if she was peddling at tremendous speed but hardly getting anywhere. She rested her bicycle up against the wall, and slipped inside.

The light was still on in his office, she thought it would be. She found him just as she had done the last time, bent over his desk, working.

This time he did not stand up as she entered, but his expression was closely akin to awe as she closed the door firmly behind herself, leaning back against it.

"I said I would come back," she reminded him. Obviously, he had not completely believed her.

"Yes," he murmured, putting his pen down, standing up.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" she asked him.

"Yes," he replied, with an honesty that both touched and startled her a little, "I thought you only said that."

She felt herself frown ever so slightly.

"Did you want me to?" she pressed, looking at him with wide eyes, trying to give him the impression of being all-seeing that he so easily gave her. She wanted to know how he felt about her being here, she needed to know.

"Yes," he replied, more swiftly, more firmly than before, taking a step towards her, "Yes, I _wanted _you."

She felt herself colour deeply, felt a rush of lust deep in her stomach. Her knees felt weak.

There was only one reply that she could honestly give, in little more than a murmur, waiting just a fraction of a second after their eyes finally met again:

"I wanted you too."

She had prayed so hard to make those words untrue, she had tried everything, but to no avail.

He was seizing her elbows, holding her close to him, backing her fully back against the door, pressing his lips to hers and kissing her. There was nothing she could do to stop him, there was nothing she wanted to do, and opened her mouth with an eager moan, deepening their kiss.

He pulled her veil off, letting her hair loose again, running his hands through it; kissing her neck and ear lobe.

"Doctor," she murmured, "I can stand the desk, but I'm not sure if I can take the door. I'm not as young as I was," she smiled apologetically, hoping he would understand.

He returned her smile.

"I'm sorry," he told her kindly, "Come over here."

And with a tenderness that almost made her weep, he slipped his hand down her arm and wrapped his fingers together with hers. He led her to the other side of the room, over to the small curtained cubicle where there was a padded examination table.

"It never gets used," he explained, "There's really no need for-..."

She cut off his words, her lips on his, pressing him back in the direction of the table until he sat on the edge. His hands wrapped around her waist, holding her to him as they kissed, moving lower and lower, cupping her bottom and pushing her firmly against him, his excitement pressing against her leg.

She had never felt physical attraction anything like this one, nothing else had ever come close. It had her unknotting his tie, letting it fall to the floor, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, pulling his shirt off. His eyes met hers between kisses; he looked amazed by her. Her tongue darts out to lick the scar on his chest, and he moans softly. Her hands roam him, brush over his nipples, sink down, trying to undo his trousers.

"Not yet, darling," he tells her softly, taking hold of her hand, catching her mouth with a kiss.

She notices the catch in his voice, he has to forcibly stop himself calling her Sister. They both know if he called her that now it would all be over.

"Darling," he winds his hands into her hair, his mouth pressing against hers, and then her cheek, and then her jaw, "Lie down, will you, darling? Take your clothes off?"

She does, and he helps her, until she lies bear before him on the table. It is narrow, and he has to lie over her to fit. Still, though, he leans up on his elbows, takes her body in. She feels so open, and wants to cover herself up, only she can't because her arms are trapped by his. She can only let him, and feel immensely grateful when she feels an admiring kiss pressed to her collarbone, and then another to her lips, ever so softly and briefly.

"Last time wasn't your first time," he states. He does not ask, he knows. She can tell by the way he's looking in her eyes.

"No," she confirms, "It wasn't. I wasn't completely alone during the war," she tells him, "The first one. That was-..."

That was the first time I broke my vows, she cannot say.

"Shh," he tells her quietly, "You don't have to explain it to me."

"You remind me of him," she tells him, her eyes closed, knowing she has to tell him, even though she really doesn't want to.

He falls silent for a moment, and she hears him exhale at length. She feels the breath dancing across her neck, and waits for him to say something.

His hand moves from where it rests on her arm and brushes her breast, caresses her so slowly.

"Were you thinking of him," he asks, "When we were making love?"

She looks into his eyes, willing him to believe her.

"No," she tells him, "I was thinking of you all of the time. All of the time that I was thinking. Were you thinking of your wife?"

"Why do you ask that?" he wonders, "You aren't the slightest bit like her. It was only you."

"It just seems so unlikely that you'd want me," she tells him.

He moves down her body a little, taking her breast in his mouth, sucking gently.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs quietly to her, into her skin, "So beautiful. You're unbelievable."

She clasps his head softly to her chest, unable to quite believe the words he's saying. These words have never been said to her before and they stir something deep within her.

And he's touching her again, between her legs. She arches her hips up to him, crying out a little in surprise as he slips his fingers inside her.

"Oh," she murmurs, "Oh-..."

"Patrick," he whispers softly in her ear, "My name is Patrick."

"Patrick!" she almost cries, clutching him to her, his fingers deep inside her.

"Sweetheart," he tells her quietly, "I want you to come for me."

She closes her eyes tightly, unable to say anything. He kisses her jaw fervently.

"Come on, darling. You deserve it."

He is indulging her beyond belief. She cannot believe he is giving her this. The fingers of his other hand brush her intimately too, touching her in a place that makes her hips jolt, and he crooks his fingers tightly within her. It is more than she can stand. She cries out, her fingers digging into his shoulder as she rocks out the incredible pleasure he's given her. Her body is on fire, she is being consumed.

All she wants is more. More, more, more of this, more of him. All she can do when she returns to her senses is reach for his belt. She's never been like this; this wanting, this longing dictating what she does. It's as if long abstinence has made her desire all the more fierce and demanding. She's never felt the need for the intimate touch of a lover, but how is she ever supposed to live without it now?

She lies there, waiting for him as he stands up to remove his trousers. She is surprised when he sits down beside her, gently nudging her over, and then taking hold of her leg, turning her around and bringing her to rest on her knees, straddling his waist.

His eyes ask her if this is alright. This is more than she'd ever imagined.

Her excitement brushes his waist unexpectedly, and she moans in surprise into his mouth. She lowers herself down onto him, their mouths still joined. She hold on to his shoulders and he latches onto her collarbone as they move together. His hands hold her hips as she rocks, she rocks and rocks against him, her head rolling back. In the blurry thoughts in her head, she feels powerful like this, she can almost believe what he tells her for a moment and think that she is beautiful. She certainly feels alive. His fingers slip between them and brush her, making her come in a matter of seconds; she stiffens against him and they fall back together as he explodes in side her.

She knows as she puts her clothes back on that she doesn't want this to end. She probably never will want it to end.

Her kisses her again before she leaves.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I really hope this is okay. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing and encouraging me.**

They make progress, if that is the right word. They keep a blanket now in the cupboard by his desk. They drape it over themselves when they lie extremely close together on the examination table, partly because there is hardly any room, partly because after the heat of their passionate embrace they simply don't want to stop touching one another; it is so difficult. Sometimes they make love twice in a row. It gets harder and hard to leave him. This is undeniably a kind of progress. He caresses her extremely tenderly whenever they are alone together, they look into one another's eyes for what feels like hours at a time. Progress towards what she has no idea.

They talk together, and in between the snippets, they learn each others lives. They are so different but in these moments they are so very much the same; they are one.

In general it is relatively easy to keep things hidden from everyone else. Absence from Nonnatus House is quite a usual thing, people are always coming and going at unconventional hours; no one misses her for one evening a week provided that they vary the days when they meet. What worries her is that they will be found out on an occasion when they meet innocently, when they're working together. She worries that someone will notice the way they look at each other, when their eyes meet, because she can feel her cheeks redden; feel the feeling between them, the passion, blazing uncontrollably out of her own eyes towards him whenever they do. She must learn to keep herself in check or they will be found out.

Sometimes she wonders where they are going. But that is not a thought which tends to be a happy one: she is sure that they can't go anywhere, but she is, in spite of everything, happy with him now. She likes to receive his affection, his attention, his love.

She licks the scar on his chest, which he tells her he got during the Blitz. He shivers with pleasure- not pain, he assures her- when she does so and she is fascinated by it, by him in those moments. He kneads her breasts tenderly, sore from being restrained all day in her unbecoming and restrictive underclothes. She wonders if she loves him. She thinks maybe she does. Is she in love with him? He certainly heals her, heals the wounds she did not know she had. And this she feels as keenly and as gratefully as she has ever felt human love.

He kisses her neck hungrily, lapping at her bare skin. They are already naked, they have already made love once that evening. Biting back a moan, she wills herself to speak rationally.

"Patrick," she murmurs, holding his face tenderly in her hands, "I love the way you do that."

She speaks the words with remarkable control, not so much as a quiver in her voice. She thinks he has realised that they mean something more. Her voice lingered over certain words for too long.

He draws away from her neck and looks up into her eyes.

Completely solemnly, no hint of a joke or a doubt, he says;

"If you wanted a different life, I would be here to give it to you. I know you couldn't, not in Poplar, but we could go away together. If you wanted."

She is completely silent, she does not know how to reply. Though she feels she cannot break their gaze at that moment, somehow she does. Her eyes fall down to where their chests press together with blissful, comforting pressure beneath the blanket. She cannot look at him.

"Thank you," she whispers, so softly, meaning it.

His finger slips beneath her chin and tilts her head back up to look at him again.

"It's alright," he tells her in reply, speaking as quietly as she had done, "I know you don't want it."

She stares back at him. She can't deny it.

He looks at her levelly, completely seriously and honestly.

"It's alright," he repeats, "I know you don't want it. It doesn't change things between us, I've always known it. But I would be there to give it to you if you did."

She does not know why he's saying these things to her, he is breaking her heart. Leaning in towards her lips, he kisses her once, gently.

"I wish I did want it," she tells him honestly, "Really."

"You can't force yourself," he assures her, "That's the last thing I would want."

Tracing its way up and across his chest, her hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, gently brushing her thumb up and down.

"Patrick," she murmurs, "Patrick."

"Darling," he murmurs in reply.

He doesn't even know her real name. She wants so badly to weep.

"I love you," she tells him, "I love the way we are together. But not so that I could leave my life behind for you. We can't ever be more than we are now. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he replies, "I understand. I've never felt closer to anyone than I do to you now."

"Even your wife?" she asks, surprised.

"Yes," he asserts, "I can't explain it. It feels like we are closer because we are all each other has. We need each other more acutely. Perhaps it's wrong of me to feel this way, but I won't lie about it to you. And if this is all I ever have with you then I am happy because I feel so close to you now. I love it. I love you."

"Oh, Patrick," she sinks her lips into his, her hands dropping and brushing gently, seductively up and down his back again.

He presses his mouth more firmly to hers, dominating their kiss. Then he pulls back, lets his hands roam over her body again.

"I can never get enough of you," he whispers into her neck, "You feel so good. I think you're beautiful. You are the best thing in my life."

She kisses the top of his head tenderly as he lavishes attention to her bosom. Her hands wind their way into his hair, gripping too tightly as he touches her between her legs, making her hips arch up to him in pleasure. She scrambles her legs around him, pulling him to her, wordlessly begging him to take her, but he just keeps touching her with his fingers. He knows how to do this now, knows exactly what will make her keen with almost agonising feeling, but he holds back so he can whisper to her in the moments just before darkness engulfs her;

"I wish I could have everything in the world with you."

She feels herself explode in every possible way; she feels herself dissolve into tears as her body shakes uncontrollably.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	4. Chapter 4

The risk of them getting caught is what makes her try to avoid him during the working day. As she sees it, she really has no other choice. Whenever they meet they never seem to be very good at restraint. She tries to have minimal contact with him at the clinic, and he hardly ever visits Nonnatus House any more. Occasionally their eyes meet at a distance across the clinic and linger for just a moment too long. It's the moment she desperately tries to avoid, while living for it at the same time. She prays for it. The Lord must be at work somewhere in this, she thinks. It must surely be a miracle that they haven't been found out yet.

But one day she comes across him completely inadvertently in the kitchen area of the hall. The clinic has just finished being cleared away and the hall is empty. He is alone, they are alone together in the middle of the day; light streaming in through the window, creating a bold silhouette of his figure. He does not hear or see her in the hall- his back is towards her- and only notices her when she enters the kitchen, pushing aside the curtain and looking at him curiously.

Holding a compact mirror- which she thinks belongs to Trixie- he is mopping awkwardly at his lip, which shows signs of having recently veld. He looks annoyed and discomforted; awkward having to tend to himself.

"What happened?" she asks him, tilting her head, reaching out to take the cotton wool swab from his hand and dabbing at his lip herself.

"Nothing, really," he tells her, frowning, looking definitely disgruntled.

She raises one eyebrow. He grimaces.

"A patient took a bit of gentle coaxing before they were willing to be examined," he tells her ruefully.

"Ah," she nods, understanding, "You've been working down at the docks."

"No, it was one of your expectant mothers," he informs her, "Sister Evangelina got a slap in the face too."

"Is she alright?" she asks.

"She's fine," he replies, "A bit rattled but fine."

It is hard for her not to smile at this thought. She knows how Sister Evangelina is when she's rattled, and she's very glad that she herself is here as opposed to back at Nonnatus House. She is _very _glad to be here, really, standing here close to him, touching his lower lips gently, this lip that she has grown to love. She steals herself; she really needs to get a grip of her thoughts before they go dangerously array.

"She doesn't need any mopping up, then?" she asks lightly.

"No," he replies, and then, smiling, after a brief moment, "But then I would say that. I want to keep you all to myself."

"Behave yourself, Doctor," she tells him playfully, in a low voice, their eyes meeting, exchanging a half-lively, half-dangerous look, "We're in our place of work."

"We're _always_ in my place of work," he reminds her pointedly.

She cannot deny that, indeed, she's not sure how she even forgot. Though she feels herself blush a little, she gives him a silent look, telling him he's got a point about that.

"Does this have anti-septic on it?" she asks him, indicating the little cotton wool swab between her fingers.

"No," he replies, "Only water."

"You should disinfect it, you know," she tells him.

"Of course I know," he replies, "But I didn't want it to sting."

She gives him a rather incredulous look this time.

"Are you aware that you sound like a little boy?" she asks lightly, trying not to giggle at him.

"Yes," he returns, a little edgily, "But it hurt enough already. Can't you leave it for a bit?"

She raises a hand and runs her fingers gently along the lines of his furrowed brow.

"Alright," she replies.

He smiles at her gratefully, but winces as the gesture stretches the cut a little.

"Oh, poor darling," she murmurs as his fingers touch his lip instinctively to see if fresh blood has been drawn. Fortunately it hasn't.

"It's going to be a damned nuisance," he tells her grumpily.

Her hand soothes over his shoulder, her eyes fixed on his chest rather than on his face.

"If you like I'll kiss it better," she offers.

"Really?" he asks, amused.

"Only if we're very quick."

At first she only presses a very gentle, chaste kiss to her lips. She means to pull away, but his hand is on the back of her head, pressing her back to him, and before she can remember where they are or what she has just said, they are kissing just as they usually would. The slight pain causes him to hold back a little and they are much gentler than usual, so much more tender, they think about every movement, feeling so much more. Her arms hold his body tightly to her.

Only the sound of a loud gasp drives them apart. They jump away from each other, their heads reeling around to see who has caught them.

Standing there, framed perfectly by the window between the hall and the kitchen, is Sister Bernadette, bearing a box of spirit lamps that it seems she has done well not to drop and wearing a look of the utmost shock on her face.

…**...**

She goes to the chapel after supper and stays there for a long time. She looks up at the alter and wonders what on earth is happening. The enormity of it did not hit her until another person found out, until she saw the silent horror in her younger sister's face. At first she sits in the chair, then falls to her knees in prayer. She wonders, then she asks, what on earth she is going to do.

She isn't even aware of the presence of another person until she gets back up and turns around to go.

Sister Bernadette stands, framed by the doorway, leaning gently against the woodwork, watching her quietly.

Sister Julienne is almost afraid to meet the girl's eyes for fear of what she will find there, but she saves her by speaking.

"Do you mind if I come in, Sister?" she asks.

"Of course not," Sister Julienne replies.

Sister Bernadette closes the door behind her, advancing again with her hands clasped and looking just slightly agitated.

"I want you to know, Sister, that I have no intention of telling anyone what I saw today," she states simply.

"Then I am greatly indebted to you," Sister Julienne replies, "You are extremely kind."

"Please be sure that I ask no questions about what has been going on between you and the doctor," Sister Bernadette tells her, her voice soft and full of concern,"I do not wish to pry. But are you alright, Sister?"

Sister Julienne smiles, closing her eyes. That is such an enormous question, she hardly knows how to approach it.

"Will you sit down a moment, Sister?" Sister Julienne asks finally.

"Of course," Sister Bernadette replies, and they settle into chairs close to each other, facing each other.

For a moment Sister Julienne cannot speak. She doesn't know where to begin.

"In a way I'm glad you've found out," she tells her honestly, "I've been wanting to tell someone all along."

"Then why didn't you, Sister?" Sister Bernadette asks earnestly.

"I didn't know who to go to," she answers in complete honesty, "Sister Monica Joan would have either talked about poetry or damnation, and Sister Evangelina may well have issued a proclamation of the latter," she muses with an attempt at a weak smile.

"Why didn't you come to me?" Sister Bernadette asks.

The young nun looks almost hurt. Sister Julienne considers for a moment. She could never have told Sister Bernadette but for a moment she cannot quite put her finger on why.

"I couldn't have burdened you with something like this," she answers a moment later, "And, more selfishly, I did not want your opinion of me to suffer."

"You need never worry about that, Sister," Sister Bernadette tells her, with such sincerity as to make her feel a pang of warmth in her heart.

They are quiet for a few moments.

"Sister," the young nun begins hesitantly, "I take it from what you say that there is more to this than... what I witnessed today?"

Sister Julienne nods, looking up into Sister Bernadette's eyes. It is only the concern, and the lack of judgement, that she finds there which allow her to utter the next words at all.

"Dr. Turner and I have been having... a love affair,I suppose you'd call it, for some months now."

To her credit, Sister Bernadette hardly reacts. She blinks hard and that is all. For a few long seconds they are silent. It is a relief to say the words, but now her concern is focused on what is going through her sister's mind.

"Tell me your opinion of me hasn't suffered now, Sister," she tells her with a sad, wry little smile.

"We are still human, Sister," Sister Bernadette reminds her, "Even wearing a habit."

Sister Julienne laughs a little at that.

"I realise that so much more than when I said it to you," she tells her by way of explanation, "I had no idea how true it really was. I feel that I was extremely naïve then. You're very wise to remind me, Sister."

"You also told me that it was no sin to love," Sister Bernadette reminds her a moment later. There is a pause. "Do you love him, Sister?"

Sister Julienne is silent.

"I do," she replies quietly, "More strongly than I knew human love could be."

Sister Bernadette's eyes are fixed on her face, wide, almost fascinated but above all kind.

"What are you going to do, Sister?" she asks.

"I don't know."

It echoes between them both, she is sure they both feel it, the hollow emptiness of this crippling uncertainty.

Timidly, Sister Bernadette's small hand reaches out and covers hers.

"You needn't be alone, Sister," the younger nun tells her when she looks questioningly up into her eyes, "I couldn't stand you feeling alone. I can't even begin to know how you feel but I will try to understand. I won't leave you alone."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	5. Chapter 5

Sister Julienne looks the younger nun steadily in the face, her eyes unwavering though her head is trembling slightly.

"Sister," she asks in a whisper, and for a moment it would be almost unbelievable that she is the older of the two, "What should I do?"

For the first time during this conversation, Sister Bernadette looks genuinely shocked.

"Sister, I can't even begin to tell you what to do!" she half-exclaims, "I've barely adjusted my mind to the situation. To make decisions for-..."

"No, you're right," Sister Julienne decides, "Forgive me. It was wrong of me to ask that. But I am so desperate for advice, for some guidance-..."

"Advice," Sister Bernadette judges slowly, her frown creased a little in concentration, "Is different."

There is a long pause, and Sister Julienne is both glad and touched to think that Sister Bernadette is considering this at such length. It takes her a little while before she is ready to speak again, but when she does there is quiet conviction in her tone.

"You have to make a choice, Sister," she judges finally, "You cannot go on like this forever. But equally, I don't think it would be wise to act at all until you are completely certain about what that choice is going to be. I'm sorry to say it, but I really don't think you can afford to make the wrong one."

Sister Julienne listens in silence, sensing that she has more to say.

"As far as I can see, you have two reasonable choices," she tells her levelly, "The first is that you leave Poplar, with Dr. Turner. Turn your back on this life altogether and start completely anew. I'm sorry Sister, but I don't think you could stay here if you married him. One of the younger nuns, perhaps, could but in your case I'm afraid there would be too much of a scandal. I'm not sure if you could stand it- I know I couldn't. The other choice is to remain here, as you are now, to break things off between the two of you and to move on. If you wanted to remain in the order and live somewhere else it would mean having to explain yourself, and I'm sure you-..."

"Quite," Sister Julienne agrees, "That would not be an attractive prospect."

They are quiet for a moment.

"I think any compromise between the two extremes would be counter-productive," Sister Bernadette states.

"Yes, Sister," Julienne replies, the grimness of the truth setting in as she concedes it, "I agree."

…**...**

It had to come to an end. She had decided. She was certain. She was going to tell him, she was on her way there now.

She felt numb, her legs were peddling of their own accord. She needed, though, to think about directions. She was not going to the Maternity Hospital as usual; Sister Bernadette had consulted the duty log for her and found that he was off call and would be at home. Very kindly, Sister Bernadette had also ascertained that Timothy would be away with Fred, Chummy and the other Cubs that night. They would not be disturbed.

She rests her bicycle carefully up against the wall and knocks a little timidly on the woodwork of the door.

He looks surprised to see her, to say the least.

"Hello."

"Hello. Can I come in?"

"Yes, of course," he steps out of the way hurriedly to let her past and shuts the door behind them both.

"Are you alright?" he asks, looking into her face with concern, "Why have you come here?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she replies- her hands are trembling if she holds them still for too long.

He follows her through into the sitting room.

"Please have a seat," he tells her.

She does so, on the settee, and he sits down beside her.

"Patrick," she turns inwards so she can look at him as she speaks, "We need to stop."

He is very quiet for a moment.

"Are you speaking on the spur of the moment or is this a thought-out decision?" he asks, quite reasonably.

"I've thought about it," she assures him, "I've been thinking about almost nothing else recently."

He nods calmly, accepting this. There is quiet for a moment. For a long moment. She wonders if he is going to speak at all.

"I knew it would happen one day," he says finally.

"I'm so sorry," she tells him quietly, willing him to believe just how sincerely she means it; she is so very sorry.

"Don't be," he tells her, "You are not to blame."

She could reasonably dispute that, she thinks; at the moment she feels all sorts of guilt. But she remains silent, and for more long moments so does he.

"Just tell me," he says quietly after a while, "Tell me honestly. Is this just because of your vows or have I made you unhappy?"

She looks at him, her eyes welling with tears. It is difficult not to reach out and take his hand.

"Oh, Patrick. You have made me so happy," she tells him, her voice quivering lightly, "You have made me happier than I ever could have dreamt."

He gives her the saddest smile she thinks she's ever seen.

"In another life we might have-..."

She nods hastily, cutting him off, unable to hear him say it. She is clenching her jaw, trying desperately to hold her tears back. Trying and failing. Her shoulders are visibly shaking.

"Darling," he murmurs, reaching out, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumb, "Don't cry, darling."

"I can't help it," she chokes out.

His hands fall to her shoulders, pulling her towards him, simply hugging her to him, trying to calm her. She hiccoughs a little with tears, her head resting on his shoulder.

"It's just," she murmurs after a while, "It's just that I couldn't bear to live here with you, with everyone talking about what we've done. And I don't think you could either. You might not be able to work as a doctor here any more and it would break your heart not to work."

"By God, I wish you weren't right," he tells her quietly.

"And I can't bear to leave here," she continues softly, "So the only thing left for me to do is to leave you. I'm so sorry, my darling."

"It's alright," he tells her again, and he sounds tired, so weary, his voice full of a dull aching, "It's alright. I understand," he soothes her back, "Please don't cry."

He kisses her cheek.

…**...**

Before she know what has happened she is in his bed, they are in his bed together, for the first and last time. It is getting dark outside, but neither of them notices. They only have eyes for each other, they undress each other, drinking in the sight of one another's bodies, because this is the very last time and this has to last a lifetime.

She has never been more in love with him than she is now. Knowing this is the final time, they give themselves to each other unreservedly, uninhibitedly, in complete abandon. He laps at her breast with his mouth, marks her collarbone with is kisses, nuzzles the hollow of her throat so intimately that it makes her cry out. She kisses him back so fervently, bites his shoulder, pushes his back into the mattress straddling his waist.

"Darling," he murmurs, looking up at her in awe as she grinds against him.

"Ruth," she tells him under her breath, "My name is Ruth."

What does it matter if he knows when she belongs to him? This is the bed where they might have lain together as husband and wife. He reaches up and touches her face, throw back in anguish as the thought washes over her. Gently, sensing her weakness, he rolls them over so that she is lying down and he is lying beside her.

"I'm glad I've made you happy," he whispers, "It was the very least I could do, because you're incredible. You're so beautiful. I've never seen anything as beautiful as you. You're so wonderful. I couldn't bear to cause you pain."

"Patrick," she murmurs, reaching out for his body, "Darling."

They embrace one another, and kiss. He kisses her lips, her neck, her breastbone, her stomach, in between her legs. He has never done this before. It makes her writhe. Nothing has ever been more intimate than what he is doing for her now, what he is giving her, what he is making her feel. She hardly knows what to do. Her hand grips the bedsheet, his dark, rumpled hair. It makes her cry out, her hips arch and jut off the bed.

He holds her limp form in his arms, kissing her face tenderly. His excitement presses against her thigh.

"In another life-..." he murmurs, deeply into her eyes.

"Don't," she tells him.

This is the life they have, the one they must live in. No other life exists, not now. And now she needs the Lord, she needs her old life, she needs to help the people of this community.

Oh, but a different life. She can read his thoughts through his eyes, from the way he is looking at her. She can see it all.

Her in midnight blue silk, two small diamonds in her ears, wearing red lipstick and crossing a room to get to him. Their eyes are locked all of the time and soft music is playing. The room is darkening around them, but they are staring at each other in a look that is itself an embrace, that is the act of love, as if across eternity, across years of time that they do not have. It is a different life: all she has to match this image, his dream of them, in the real world is the brightness of her eyes, her lips red from kissing and the blue of her habit. But the look they share, the way they feel is the same. A different life. He thinks her incredible and she has never been more in love with him. But once they make love this final time, it will all be over. Everything will be over.

They move to each other at the same time, their arms, their eyes, locking around each other. She gives him a brief nod. He enters her so slowly.

"Patrick," she murmurs gently in his ear, choking back tears.

"Ruth."

He moves gently at first, so infinitely slowly that she can hardly bear the torturous exquisite pleasure of it. He holds her so tenderly. She can hardly bear that this has to be over and yet when it comes to it, she is begging him to go faster, she needs to feel him more. They kiss so deeply. His hands touch her breast, slip between their bodies to brush her between the legs, making her moan.

In the end they cannot kiss any more, it is too much. He presses his face into her shoulder and she buries hers in his hair. His lips brush her collarbone, emitting low, erotic pants or breath against her skin as he thrusts into her.

On the cusp of every gasp, she can hear the words he is only just barely holding back, which he has said to her before and which she is so grateful he is restraining because she knows to hear them again now would mean she could never leave, she would return again and again to him, her lover.

But she hears them clearly, ringing, chanting over and over again in her own head as they both come within seconds of each other falling sated and broken into one another's arms:

"_I wish I could have everything in the world with you." _

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time. **


End file.
